


How It All Began

by lovelyroses



Category: The Book Thief - Markus Zusak
Genre: Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Smut warning for chapter 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-03-01 11:04:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18799078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelyroses/pseuds/lovelyroses
Summary: Just a collection of headcanons about Max's parents and Hans and Rosa Hubermann, because we don't get much about their backgrounds.





	1. Chapter 1

Erik Peter Vandenburg was born in Stuttgart in 1895, the youngest of four children. I first encountered him when he was three years old. His mother had been horribly ill, and when I slipped my hand under the sheets and collected her soul, she drew her last breath: a sigh of relief. I looked into her eyes and saw so much pain, so much heartache. When I came, she was ready and willing to go. The boy was asleep in the next bed. As I was leaving, his eyelids fluttered open, and I was afraid he'd see me, but he rolled over and went back to sleep. He seemed angelic, almost.  _Sleep well, little boy,_ I thought.

Now orphaned, the children were now property of the state, and they were placed in the local orphanage. The matron really was a kind woman, but she was often exhausted from dealing with the children. Erik's early years were mostly idyllic, as he was well cared-for and life at the orphanage became his new normal. However, occasionally, that stabbing pain of missing his mother would come, and he'd cry himself to sleep.

When he was ten years old, his twin sister Elsbeth was sent away to live with a family. I distinctly remember them. The Schneiders. They were stuck-up and stiff, and Frau Schneider's nose reminded me of a rabbit's. Small and twitchy. They _expressly_ said they _didn't_ want the other children, as the second oldest, Frederick, was "too old" for them, and Erik was too "boisterous". (Daniel, the oldest, had moved out.) The night after she went home with them, he thought to himself. _Maybe I'll_ never _have a family._ At this time, his schoolmates were making fun of him for being an orphan, too, so this exacerbated his need to belong somewhere.

And that's where the music came in. He learned accordion from his school's music teacher, a certain Herr Wagner. The boy noticed the instrument in his classroom and asked to be taught how to play it. The moment he started playing, it was ecstasy. Everything else seemed to disappear, and it was just him and the music. He felt weightless, _free_ , almost. Soon, he expanded his repertoire from a few simple pieces to music composed by the likes of Chopin and Schumann. His favorite, though, was the Blue Danube waltz.

Two years later, Daniel got married. His wife, Ruth, was a fairly recent immigrant from Russia. I must admit, she was a pretty girl. And she was still quite pretty when I caught up with her soul more than thirty years later. It was a small wedding they had, really, with Erik, Frederick, and the bride's family and friends attending. But everyone there had a good time. And Daniel.... oh, you could tell that he loved Ruth so incredibly hard. You could see it in the way he looked at her.

Unfortunately, that year was also when Frederick delivered himself to me. He was sixteen years old. Poor boy. I could tell that he'd tried, really tried, to push through life. But eventually, it proved to be too much. I suppose the reality of his situation hit him: he was orphaned, poor, and had virtually no opportunities. 

As the years passed, Erik tried to harden himself. He buried his grief and sadness, because he figured they were of no use to him. He simply had to keep moving forward. 

There are lots of ways humans try to distract themselves from difficult things. Some are healthy, some not so. I've seen quite a few of the unhealthy methods. _Quite_ a few. Alcohol, sex, reckless behavior. Erik dabbled in these particular three. He would sneak out most nights and sneak back in at around three or four in the morning, inebriated and covered in bruises. He always got drunk before a fight. "Liquid courage", as they say.   

But some nights, just like when he was little, he would cry himself to sleep. And he would wonder how his life had gotten to this current low point. One night, when he was sixteen, the matron caught him sneaking back into his dormitory, and the two argued. Then he told her to do something that started with "f" and ended in "off". She took one long look at him and said, "I don't even know who you are anymore."

Then she exited, and he stood there, in shock at what he'd just said to her. The woman who'd fed him, housed him, _raised_ him. And he realized right then that he'd spent so much time putting up a false front that _he_ didn't even know who he was anymore. He knew immediately that in order to gain her forgiveness (and to avoid a fate similar to that of Frederick's), he had to turn his life around. So he stopped fighting, stopped sneaking out. He was even able to reduce his drinking. And a year later, he crossed paths with Maxime.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Maximiliane Irma Rosenberg was the same age as Erik, but her upbringing wildly differed from his. She was Jewish, like him, but unlike Erik, her family was middle-class, and she grew up practicing the religion. She grew up with two parents and an older sister, Marta. Her parents had quarreled over her secular name. Her father thought it was too much of a mouthful for a little girl, but her mother thought it was beautiful and elegant. “I want her to be a fine lady, so she shall have a name to show it.”

“But couldn’t it be shorter? I pity whoever will have to learn to spell it.”

So they debated over her nickname, until they settled on Maxime, pronounced the French way. Her mother lamented her looks, fearing that her dark curly hair and sand-colored complexion would subject her to ridicule and impede her ability to marry well. In those days, that was all a girl could hope for, really. But honestly, Maxime was beautiful. Full lips, haunting dark eyes. She was not just aesthetically beautiful, though. She had a beautiful soul, as well. Kind, sweet. And she exuded this sort of radiance that few people have. 

Unfortunately, the perfect image Maxime and Marta’s parents projected to everyone else was a false one. By the time Marta was nine, their father had made a habit of coming into her room at night. Two years later, when Maxime was that same age, he did the same thing to her, too. This would have persisted, had their mother not found out. She divorced him and tried to keep the circumstances of the divorce a secret, having already caused an uproar among her high-society friends. 

Maxime, a quiet girl, sought comfort in books and music. Like Erik, she used music to escape. For her, it was the violin. Her mother initially encouraged this, believing the music would give her a refined quality that would help her to find a husband, but eventually, she feared that Maxime was spending too much time in her room, reading or practicing the violin.

However, she had a tendency of bottling up her emotions, which would eventually result in an explosive outburst. The outbursts would be triggered by something seemingly insignificant. In all her years of school, she got into two fights: one in Year Six, with a girl who made fun of her accent. The next one was in Year Eight, with a girl who jostled her in the lunch line. The response to each fight was the same: both girls would find themselves in the headmistress’s office, the headmistress would reprimand them for their unladylike behavior and hit them on the hand with a ruler, and then at home, their  _ mothers  _ would reprimand them for their unladylike behavior.

          When she was seventeen and had finished school, her mother was badgering her to start looking for a husband. One evening, she had her attend a party where there would be other people her age. It was actually Marta who gave Mrs. Rosenberg the  _ idea,  _ because the host of this party was a friend’s brother. Maxime objected to this idea, but her mother would not budge on this. She helped her get ready, subjecting the girl to a very harsh brushing of the hair and a tight dress. She groaned. “Mama, this is ridiculous.”

“Well, you’ll thank me when someone notices you.”

She simply rolled her eyes and left, instantly wishing she’d stayed home.  _ There are better ways for me to spend my evening.  _ Then, when she stepped onto the porch of the house, she saw a boy sitting there. He had dark hair that he’d clearly tried to comb, but because of the humidity, was starting to get messy. His eyes were soft and brown, like those of a puppy. He was tall, but that specific teenage-boy brand of tall: he looked like he hadn’t yet grown into his body, so to speak. His legs were awkward and long, and he tried to cross them, but didn’t look terribly comfortable doing it. As soon as he saw her, a cool, easy smile spread across his face. She didn’t know what it was about that smile, but she could feel herself blushing. 

Erik didn’t know what it was about that girl. He’d just been sitting on the porch, trying to avoid some people he recognized from school, when he just  _ had  _ to look at her. Something about her was just so….  _ alluring _ . It wasn’t exactly the cliche “love at first sight”, but he felt like something drew him to her that he just couldn’t describe. Awkwardly, he watched her walk inside. 

He followed her back into the house and saw that she was simply standing around. So he walked up to her. “Your hair is so pretty.”

“Thank you,” she laughed.

“What’s your name?”

“Maximiliane. My family calls me Maxime.” 

“Maximiliane,” he murmured. “Beautiful name for a beautiful girl. My name’s Erik.”

So the awkward boy had a name. “Do you want to dance?” he asked.

She blushed again, but accepted. The boy was no dashing Prince Charming, but he seemed nice. She felt this odd warm feeling for some reason- perhaps it was because this was the first time she’d been that close to a boy? As they danced, they talked some more. Well, he led with the questions, because she still hadn’t fully gotten over the fact that  _ a boy had noticed her.  _ “So tell me about yourself. What do you like to do?”

She thought about it for a bit. “I read, write, play violin...sometimes, I sing.” 

Her mother had paid for voice lessons when she was a young girl, which she’d enjoyed. But her mother had also paid for that horrendous ballet instructor that only lasted two years, so her judgment wasn’t always the best.

“I’d love to hear you sing.” He smiled. “What kind of things do you write?” 

“Stories, poems.”

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“I have an older sister. What about you?”

He swallowed hard, remembering how little family he had left. “I have two older brothers and a twin sister. And...I play the accordion, and...I read, I suppose.”

She laughed. “You  _ suppose _ ?”

After a couple more songs, they decided to take a break from dancing and sit down on a nearby couch. “What brings you here? How do you know the host?” asked Erik. 

“Oh, I barely know him. His sister’s friends with  _ my  _ sister, and my mother made me come here because she wants me to go out more.” Maxime rolled her big dark eyes and chuckled. 

“To be honest with you, I don’t know him that well, either. He’s in my class at school, and he just invited everyone.” 

They both laughed at this shared awkwardness.     


At the end of the night, they each thanked the host and told him to have a good     
night, as was customary. Then as they headed towards the door, Maxime began to say goodbye to Erik, wondering if she’d see him again. He pulled out a notebook, ripped a piece of paper out of it, and wrote down his address. He didn’t tell her that he lived at the city orphanage, out of embarrassment. “I don’t have a telephone, I’m afraid. I’d like to get to know you better.”

“I, you,” she mumbled. She was still feeling quite a bit nervous around him, but the excited kind, like she was before her Bat Mitzvah. 

“How are you planning on getting home? It’s dark out.”   
“Oh, I live close by. I’ll just walk.”

“Well, then, at least let me walk with you.”

So they walked together, and this time, Maxime decided to initiate the conversation. “What do you want to do, now that we’re finished with school?”

“I’ve always wanted to be a teacher. People say I’m good at explaining things.” 

She looked at him and realized she could imagine him as a teacher. He seemed calm, like the type of person who would be good with kids. She, meanwhile, loved children, but was always unsure how to behave around them. “My mother’s been badgering me to get a husband.”

“Aren’t you a bit young for that?”

“Yes, and she knows this! My stepfather has told her over and over. I just finished school a  _ week  _ ago! And even if I was older, I’m  _ still  _ in no hurry to get married. I haven’t even ...” She looked down, a little embarrassed to be discussing this with him. “...had a boyfriend.”

“Well, why not, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I guess I just haven’t found the right boy yet.”

Erik dropped her off at her house, and she waved goodbye to him. As he made his way home, he was still thinking about her, and he couldn’t figure out why. And he went up to bed with a smile on his face. “Well, Erik, you seem pleasant this evening,” laughed the matron. 

“Well, Frau Lehmann, it’s a pleasant evening.”

They wrote each other, of course. Quite a lot. Their first correspondences were innocent enough, and typical. Friendly chat about family, friends, life in general. For instance, Erik told her about buying himself an apartment and how excited he was to live on his own. Then one night, later that month, they agreed to meet at the  _ Schlossplatz _ . 

Now this square is breathtakingly beautiful. The site of a (by then unused) palace. In the middle, the statue of a woman (a Greek goddess? Germania? I never figured it out) overlooks the square and the people on it from her perch on a pedestal. She is flanked by two identical fountains, and the grass surrounding it is neatly manicured so as to allow for some footpaths. By day, it’s already gorgeous, but by night, all the lamps are lit, and they seem to cast an otherworldly glow on everyone and everything. It makes even the chimney sweep walking to his next assignment, his face covered in soot, look like a god. And if there happens to be a full moon, as there was that fateful night, this effect is amplified. How fitting, then, that Erik wanted to be with Maxime here. Alone. 

They got themselves seated on a bench, and Maxime raised her head to take everything in. “Wow, it’s beautiful.”

Erik nodded. “That’s why I wanted to bring you here. So you can see what it’s like at night.”

“Well, it’s divine. Thank you.”

They went on like this, having brief, awkward conversations here and there, until Erik felt he couldn’t pretend any longer. Oh, God, he just  _ had  _ to kiss her. The desire was almost eating him up inside, it was so fierce. How he wanted to run his fingers through her hair, hold her in his arms, just  _ be  _ with her. This scared him a bit. He’d kissed a few girls, and done more with these girls, but he’d never felt this way about  _ any  _ of them.  _ Breathe, Erik, you’ve done this before.  _ So he put his arm around her and leaned forward. 

Maxime didn’t know how to respond to this.  _ Is he going to kiss me?  _ She wanted to kiss him back. In fact, she hadn’t been sure if he wanted anything more from her than just someone to talk to, but here he was, making the first move! But now that it was happening, she realized that now, more so than ever, she was as awkward as a newborn colt.  _ What should I do with my hands?  _ Erik sensed this, though, and guided them towards him. As their mouths met, she thought,  _ My first kiss! _ But then he felt his hand travel up her thigh, and she stiffened. He pulled away. “What’s the matter?”

“Oh, it’s just…. I’m not ready for that, is all.”

As the months went on, they went on more little outings like this. The trust between them grew, and he eventually told her that he was an orphan. Of course, Maxime had no issues with that. Why would she? He may not have been able to give her expensive gifts or an elevation in status, but he offered love, and that was one thing in her life she lacked. 

Erik was eighteen in May 1913. On his birthday, Maxime bought him a sweater, because she knew the one he had was old and barely staying together, despite her having mended it. Marta, who’d agreed to accompany her on this shopping trip, giggled. “You’re buying him a sweater? In  _ this  _ weather?”

“It’s for when it gets cold. And besides, I want him to at least  _ look _ as if he has a mother!”

“Well, that’s sweet of you.”    


That evening, she arrived at his apartment with the gift. “Well, hello, Maxime,” he said cooly, answering the door. “Come in.”

“Happy birthday, Erik.”

So she took off her shoes and sat on the couch, where he joined her. Then she showed him the box, and he opened it and gasped.  _ Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Cashmere!  _ He picked it up and felt it. “It’s very soft,” he murmured. “Thank you so much.”

Then he leaned over to kiss her. His heart pounded in his chest. He had something great planned for this evening, if she was up to it, of course. _Relax, Erik,_ he reminded himself. _Take it easy._

"Well," he said. "Make yourself comfortable, my darling. I'm making supper, and it should be ready in five minutes."

Wow. He'd made _her_ supper on _his_ birthday. _Well, that's sweet of him,_ she thought, smiling to herself as he left the room. But while he was in the kitchen, she thought about that last little exchange, and she noticed that something had seemed... _off_ about the way he was acting. Like he was _nervous_ about something. She chuckled at that idea. Erik? _Nervous?_ No. That couldn't be it. 

"All right, supper's ready!"

So she went into the kitchen, and saw that he'd made roast beef, some kind of potatoes, and asparagus. Erik was no chef, but he'd been working on his cooking skills, and it showed. As they sat down to eat, he said, "It's the best thing I can make. Sorry."

"Oh, don't be _sorry_. I mean, it's _your_ birthday. You didn't have to go to all this trouble."

As they ate, she said, "Thank you for this."

"Oh, my pleasure." He kissed her neck, slowly and purposefully. She'd never been kissed there, and it gave her chills, but the good kind. She couldn't describe it. 

Afterwards, once they'd cleared the table, he whispered, "That's not all I have for you, my love." Then he grinned and led her to his bedroom.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for smut (not super explicit, though).... you might wanna skip this chapter if you don't like that sort of stuff.

Maxime sat on his bed, unsure of what would happen. Then he joined her, and they kissed. As he undulated against her, she felt those chills once again. Then he pushed her back onto the bed. Oh, God. Something about him being this close to her made her a little scared. She didn't know why she felt this fear creeping in, but she flinched. "Hey, hey, hey, it's normal to be nervous," he whispered. "I won't hurt you. This will feel good."

She didn't respond. She simply took a deep breath in an attempt to quell this mysterious fear. "Maxime, if you don't want this, you can just tell me."

She took another breath, and, feeling just a bit calmer, she said, "No, no, I do want this. It's just...." She couldn't explain what had come over her, so she made up a good excuse. "We're not even engaged yet."

"Oh, don't worry about that. No one has to know."

She knew that even if she married someone else, she wanted him to be the first man she gave herself to. "Oh, all right, then."

So he helped her off with her clothes. He could hardly contain his excitement.  _She’s letting me do this!_ He couldn’t believe it.

As he undressed her, she felt heat radiate from his fingertips. He was clearly excited about this. As he started to take off her underwear, she got giddy. _If my mother knew what I was doing this evening, she’d just about die!_

When she was completely exposed, he had to stop and look at her. Damn. He hadn't thought it possible for her to be any more beautiful than she already was. "I don't think you know how beautiful you are right now."

She simply lay there and watched as he got undressed. He had a nice physique, she had to give him that. Now that he was a bit older, he'd gained some more muscle in his chest and arms, and he looked less like a scarecrow than he had when they first met. When he was finished, he started rubbing himself. She blushed a little. Erik smiled. “You don’t just have to watch me. You can touch yourself, too. Don’t worry, darling, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

So she started to touch herself. She’d done this before, but not with anyone watching. Now, just knowing that her boyfriend was watching her and pleasuring himself while watching her.... it was almost too much.

After a bit, he crept towards her and positioned himself on top of her. "Are you ready?"

"Yes."

And with that, he pushed into her. A gasp escaped her lips. Then he kept rocking his hips, at a steady pace, so she could adjust to him more easily. His lips seemed to stay on her skin, even after he'd kissed her. He stroked her hair, calling her his love, his darling. The feeling of his body on hers, the sharpness of his bones and muscles against the softness of her own body, was just so exhilarating. He growled dirty things into her ear, dirty enough to make her blush. Suddenly, she felt the pleasure building in her body. "Erik....." was all she could say before she released, letting out a loud moan.

Erik loved feeling her shudder against him. He was pleased with himself at having satisfied her. “Yes, that’s right,” he whispered. “Release, my love. Let it out.”

”Well,” he asked afterwards. “How was that?”

”Wonderful,” she sighed.

After that night, there were many others like it. Eventually, in July 1915, Erik sent her a letter, asking her to marry him. He said he’d give her the ring he’d bought when they saw each other in person again. Maxime read his words in disbelief. Was she dreaming? 

She gave this decision a bit of thought. Did she want to spend the rest of her life with him? And she realized that no matter who she married, he would never be the same as Erik. He may buy her expensive gifts, but it would never compare to Erik taking her to the Schlossplatz at night. He could live in a mansion outside of the city, but it would never feel as comfortable as lying on the couch with Erik in his apartment, staring at the ceiling. Hell, she and Erik could be watching paint dry and she’d still enjoy it! And besides, he didn’t know it yet, but she was carrying his child. 

So she wrote back, saying yes. Then she told him her own news. Erik gasped when he read this. He would be a father! He took a deep breath, thinking of his own childhood, and promised that he would give his child everything he never had growing up. 

They were married in September. Nobody knew that the bride was pregnant. And in April 1916, their child, a boy they called Max, was born. They both adored him, but Erik, especially. He believed that the child was a gift from God, and he always said that his favorite moments were those spent with his wife and those spent with his baby. Or both. They may not have had much, running a music studio out of their apartment, but they had love, and lots of it, and that was all they needed. 

And for two brief, idyllic years, that was how they lived. I caught up with Erik’s soul on a battlefield in France in September 1918. His body was in pieces. It was difficult for me to collect his soul, because he was so young and because he had a wife and a baby waiting for him,  but he laughed and told me not to worry. “I have everything I ever wanted in life. That’s all that matters.”

Fortunately, it was many, many years later when I caught up with Maxime. It was 1982, and she was in upstate New York, in her bedroom, with her second husband. She was just as calm in receiving me as Erik had been. But I looked at her and saw years of pain. She had scars on her body. Her eyes held so much heartache. I knew she’d had nightmares for the last forty years, because I had been there while she was having them. And lastly, I saw the series of numbers on her arm, a permanent branding in ink. But before we left, she wanted to show me something. So she led me to a trunk and then pried it open. It had letters in it, all of them between her and Erik. 

I read those letters. Each and every one. From in those summer months after they first met to his time in the war. And I saw it all. Their love for their son. Their love for each other. The life they shared. When I was done reading them, she asked if I was ready to leave. And I said yes. “What about you?”

She sighed. “I’ve been ready. For decades. There were days when I thought you’d come, but you never showed up.”

”Because it wasn’t time yet.”

”I suppose it wasn’t. And at first, I used to hate you for not showing up and putting me out of my misery, but... I’m actually glad you didn’t.” She smiled and gestured towards her bedroom and her sleeping husband. “I got to live a long, full life. I lived to see Max grow up, get married. I lived to become a grandmother. Hell, I even lived to be a great-grandmother! I got married again, and he may not be Erik, but I love him and he loves me. We’re happy. And all I wanted was to be happy.” 

“Well, then, I suppose we should go. But... do you think Max will manage without you?”

”Of course he will. He’s stronger than he knows. And besides, I’ll still be watching him, even if he doesn’t see me.”

I smiled. That was a very motherly response. “Alright, let’s go. And I think someone you know is waiting for you.”

So we stepped out into the night, and I saw Erik running towards her. She ran towards him, and in the middle of the street, they embraced. They’d spent six wondrous years together, and now they were ready to be together for all of eternity. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gaaaah.... I've never posted smut before. And I know the smut part (and possibly everything else) is cringy AF but... thanks for reading.


	4. Chapter 4

Eight-year-old Hans Hubermann sat at his desk in the classroom, utterly bored. It was an unbearably hot Friday afternoon and all he wanted to do was sit under the shade of a tree and watch the girl from across the street, Rosa Bauer. He'd missed seeing her at school, as her seamstress mother had pulled her out of school so she could help out, both with sewing and around the house. Maybe he would play with her that weekend if her mother let her. Oh, here she was now! As he turned to stare out the window, he saw her walking down the path towards the richer part of town, dispassionately carrying a basket of clothes. _Oh, poor Rosa! She must be so hot in that dress!_ She looked up and saw him looking at her, and he smiled. She took one look at him and quickly turned away. "Hans Hubermann!"

He turned back around to see Frau Wette's piercing eyes on him and gulped. "Yes, Frau Wette?"

"Come to my desk."

Hans was never one to disobey. So, knowing what was coming next, he came forward and gulped, just hoping this would be quick. His classmates didn't dare giggle for fear that they would be the targets of the teacher's wrath as well.

"Hold out your hand."

He obeyed, and she pulled out her ruler and struck him with it. He winced, but he knew he dared not cry out or make a sound. When she was done, she snapped, "You will pay attention in my class. Is that clear?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Now go back to your seat."

He sat back down in his seat, his hand still stinging, and sighed. If his mother caught wind of this, which he knew she would, she would give him hell, too. Well. At least at home, there was the possibility of his father saving the situation.

Finally, the school bell rang, and a flood of children rushed out of the classroom. Some lingered outside to talk. Having no friends at school anymore, Hans just walked straight home. And when he arrived at his house, his mother was doing laundry outside, and his little brothers were chasing each other around. Upon seeing their older brother, the two little boys, four-year-old twins Alfred and Albert, raced towards him. "Hansi!"

He hugged the squirming little boys and laughed. They never failed to make him happy, even on days like this. "What did you do today?"

"We caught a frog, Hansi!" squealed Alfred.

"Oh! Can I see it?"

Albert made a little sad face. "Mama wouldn't let us keep it, so we had to let it go."

"Well, that's a shame. What did it look like?"

"It was green and had spots on it."

As Hans made his way inside, his mother reminded him to wipe his feet before going in. So he did. Then he sat at the window and watched for Rosa once again, this time in peace. Just then, he saw her making her way home. He smiled while watching her. A bit later, his father came home from his job. Peter Hubermann was a shoemaker, and he ran a shop not far from their house. "Papa!" shouted the little ones, barreling into their father.

He chuckled a little. "Hello, Alfred. Hello, Albert."

After hugging the boys, he went over to his wife, who was now in the kitchen, and kissed her. "Hello, Erna. I missed you."

Hans knew that his father was the only one who could melt her tough-as-nails exterior. "I missed you, too, Peter."

Then Peter saw his oldest son staring out the window. "Hello, Hans. How was school?"

"Terrible."

He placed a hand on his shoulder. "Why was it terrible?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

He nodded, then attempted to change the subject. "Are you watching Rosa again?"

Hans blushed. ".....no...."

"Oh, Hans, it's all right. I know you're sweet on her."

"I am _not_!"

But his protest was in vain, for his little brothers heard this and chanted, "Hans has a girl! Hans has a girl!"

"I don't either, and you know it!"

Later that night, as they ate supper, Erna asked, "So what was all the commotion about?"

"Hans is sweet on Rosa." Peter winked in Hans's direction.

The eight-year-old buried his head in his hands. "That is _not_ true."

"Hans," said Erna. "You shouldn't even be around that Bauer girl."

Peter rolled his eyes and sighed, knowing what was coming next. "Erna, please, he doesn't need to hear this."

She continued, ignoring her husband. "Her mother had a bad reputation when we were younger, and the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree."

Now one thing you ought to know: Erna Hubermann (then Meyer) and Gertrud Bauer (then Schneider) used to be friends. But after an incident when they were sixteen that involved Gertrud and a boy, there was a schism between the two women. News spreads fast in a small town, so Erna's mother heard about this incident and advised her daughter to keep her distance lest she, too, fall victim to whatever "wicked influence" her friend was under (her words, not mine). And, being a good Catholic girl, she did. 

Hans was just confused.  _What does 'reputation' mean, anyways?_ But he figured that despite what his mother said, whatever it was Frau Bauer had done when she was younger had nothing to do with how Rosa was as a person.

That Saturday, when his father had gone off to work and his mother was still preoccupied with cleaning, Hans ran to the house across the street in the hopes of playing with Rosa. Then he knocked on the door, and Frau Bauer answered. "Hans?"

He smiled. "Can Rosa play today?"

"She's helping me with my sewing right now. You can come over later, though."

And he did. Later that afternoon, he returned to the house, knocked on the door once again, and Rosa answered this time. She smiled a bit when she saw him, so that made him a little hopeful. "Would you like to go exploring, Rosa?"

"No, _Saukerl_."

Well, _that_ stung a bit. "All right. I'll just leave."

She laughed. "Oh, Hans, I was just teasing. Of course I'd like to go exploring." She turned and called to her mother, "Mama! Hans and I are going exploring!"

"Make sure you're back in time for supper, Rosa!"

So she ran out of the house, excited at being able to, for once, go outside. The air had cooled just a little bit, and she'd changed into something more comfortable than that utterly ghastly lace dress her mother had made for her. She and Hans ran like the wind, past the houses, past the shops, all the way to the bridge looking out over the Amper River. The sunlight seemed to dance on the water today. Hans looked up and smiled at her. He was adorable when he smiled, she had to give him that. "You know," he said. "Ever since you left school, I've really missed you."

She sighed. These moments had been fewer and further between since her mother had pulled her out of school. "I've missed you, too, Hans."

"I wish we could spend more time together."

"I do, too. But you know my mother wants me to be home all the time so I can help out."

"I know." He gulped, then tried to change the subject. "Why don't we go skip some rocks?"

So they clambered across the bridge and onto the path that led down to the riverbanks. It was relatively empty over here, aside from a few men fishing. Hans's father had taught him how to skip rocks, and he in turn had taught this skill to Rosa the previous summer. He knelt down into the gravel and looked for a good skipping rock. It had to be flat, but it couldn't be circular, because those rocks don't skip well. It also had to be no bigger than the palm of his hand. Finally, he found it. It was flat, black, and smooth, and the perfect size and shape, too. So he picked it up, held it just the right way, and released it. Three full skips! "Let me try," said Rosa.

She picked up a rock and attempted the same maneuver, but all it did was sink into the water. " _Scheisse_!"

Hans laughed. "Good thing your mother didn't hear that." Then he went over to her to help her find a better rock to use. They did find a better rock, but Rosa was disappointed that she got two skips out of it, as opposed to Hans's three.

They sat together on the riverbank that afternoon, talking. "Rosa, why did you look away yesterday afternoon when I saw you?"

She blushed. "I was hoping you wouldn't see me carrying those clothes." Then she sighed and rested her chin on her hands. "This may sound silly, Hans, but I don't want to be a seamstress."

Because of their social class, there was very little choice involved in one's future. So the adults in their neighborhood made sure not to get the children's hopes up. "It's not silly. What do you want to do instead?"

She thought about it for a bit. "I suppose.... if I'm going to have a job, I want it to be something I love doing. I don't know what exactly I want to do, but... I want to live a life that I'm happy with. Where I can do as I please. So that when I'm old, instead of being sad that I didn't get to do what I wanted, I'll be happy that I had a good life."

He nodded. "That's a lovely dream."

"But it's not practical. That's what my mother says. So I suppose it'll stay just that: a dream." She smiled. "But it's a nice thing to believe."

Hans knew what she meant by this. He had passions of his own. He liked to draw, even if he wasn't very good. And people had told him he had a nice singing voice. Although he knew it wouldn't happen, he often found himself imagining going to art school in Munich or even Paris and becoming an artist.

She looked at the sky and saw that the sun was starting to set. "Well, I think we should be going home now."

"Alright, then." So they walked home.

At supper that night, Hans's father wanted to talk with him about something important. Hans gulped. Was it the incident with Frau Wette? And if so, how had he heard about that? But his father said something rather unexpected.

"Your mother and I have been talking about this for a while, and we think you should leave school."

He sat there in shock and disbelief. "Why?"

"As you know, I could use some help in my shop, what with my apprentice quitting. And besides, this will be a perfect opportunity for you. You'll learn some useful skills. And maybe one day, you'll be able to take over the shop."

Hans sighed. He'd always known he didn't have much of a choice in this area. He didn't like school, but he'd hoped to at least stay another year. Maybe then he could pretend that he was going to secondary school, and that he at least had a chance at achieving his dream. "When do I start working?"

"We'll let you finish out this year. And then in the summer, you start work."

Hans and Rosa grew up. They didn't see much of each other, as they were both working their respective jobs. But sometimes, she would stop by the shoe shop and talk with him for a few brief moments. More often than not, though, he would watch her from a window, either in the shop or at his house. By the time he was fifteen, he realized that he felt some strange feelings for her. His childhood adoration gave way to genuine longing. He couldn't stop thinking about her. It felt like he _needed_ her. Every day, he thought of stroking her hair, kissing her.

One day, he confessed this to his father, leaving out the part about wanting to kiss Rosa (out of embarrassment). "Is this what love is, Papa?"

"Hmmm... perhaps. But you're both young, so I can't say that it's definitely love."

That year was also when he got an idea of what he wanted to do. He was getting increasingly bored at his father's shop, and he knew he definitely didn't want to be a shoemaker the rest of his life. One afternoon, he was out when he saw the town's painter, Holger Zimmermann, standing on a ladder, painting a sign. Holger was young, about twenty-five. Unmarried, which was an anomaly in Molching. The townspeople sort of gave him the side-eye because of his dirty jokes and the strange noises often heard from his house. Hans watched him for a bit, then, as was his nature, asked, "Would you like some help, Herr Zimmermann?"

"Why, yes, Hans." Then he turned to look at him. "Could you fetch me that bucket next to your feet?"

The boy looked down and saw a bucket of green paint, then passed it up. And that was how he ended up helping Herr Zimmermann on his rounds that day. He felt something gratifying from seeing all the appreciative customers. Some had nothing to offer the painter, only a hot meal or a cigarette. Still, he gladly accepted it. This felt like the type of work Hans wanted to do: the kind that involved helping people. "Well," said Herr Zimmermann when the day's work was finally finished.  
"Thank you, Hans." He passed him a few pfennig, and Hans pocketed the change.

"Oh, you're welcome, Herr Zimmermann. If you need anything else..."

He grinned and slipped him a piece of paper with his address on it. "If you'd like to come work for me, just let me know."

"Thank you!"

As Hans made his way back home, he was approached by one of his friends, Arthur Meier. "Arthur!"

"Hans, did you hear what Rosa did?"

"What..."

He dropped his voice to a whisper. "Rosa kissed the delivery boy this afternoon."

Hans felt just the slightest prick of jealousy. "Wow."

"I know. Her mother must be so ashamed."

He went home, feeling disappointed and a bit angry at that delivery boy. _What does he have that I don't?_ Then he began cursing himself. _Maybe I've been away from her too long._ He flopped down onto his bed and sighed. Any chance he'd had with Rosa was gone. But oh, Hans. You shouldn't give up hope so quickly.

 


	5. Chapter 5

There's not much to say about the days immediately following that incident. Erna Hubermann, as expected, said, "Like mother, like daughter." Then she turned to Hans and said, "Like I said. Stay away from her. She's sloppy and trashy, just like her mother."

He spent most of those days going about his work and trying not to think about Rosa. He'd never even told her how he felt. Maybe that was it: he'd needed to be more forward with her. But still, why the delivery boy and not him? However, he deeply, _deeply_ pitied her, because the harassment she endured over the kiss was relentless.

Some of the younger boys in town took to riding past her house on their bikes and yelling, "Slut!" Her friends split off from her. And whenever she made her rounds delivering the mended clothes, she would walk quickly so as not to attract the attention of the boys and men who would call out or wolf-whistle or however it was they'd decided to torment her that afternoon. At church, all the women would look away and lament, "It's a shame, really. She was such a good girl, and now..."

Rosa hated this. She couldn't believe that gossip, Klara Schilzer, had told _everyone_! Why was it anybody's business what she did with whom? And besides, it wasn't like she was _interested_ in the delivery boy! In fact, she found him a little annoying. He'd been coming around her house quite a bit, and she knew it was because he was sweet on her. She'd only kissed him because she wanted to see what it was like to kiss a boy. She didn't know what came over her. But she knew that as they stood on the porch, she leaned towards him and gave him a soft little kiss on the mouth. It was a chaste kiss, sure, but enough to make her feel giddy, like she'd done something naughty and gotten away with it. Once he left, she heard giggling, and saw that Klara had been watching. "Looks like you had your first kiss."

Rosa blushed. "Please don't tell anyone."

Klara laughed. "I won't."

But she did, and everyone, at that. Now nobody would leave her alone about it. And her mother? She had to avoid her, because she was constantly talking about how she'd sinned and shamed the family and how she needed to "repent or burn in Hell". One night, in her room, after saying her usual prayers, she said an additional one. _Dear God, I hope you still love me. I'm.....sorry if I offended you somehow by kissing the delivery boy. Although....I don't see how that could have offended_ you, _but anyways. I know you want me to be chaste and pure until marriage. Or whatever it is the priest- and my mother- are always on about. And I think I still am, right? It was just a kiss. And even then, it was just a small one. And I only did it because I wanted to try it. Kissing, I mean. Now if he'd been there, I would have kissed Hans....God, is it a sin for me to want to kiss Hans? I mean, I'd just want to try it, of course. But I'd also want it to be more meaningful than with the delivery boy. Would you still forgive me?_

She lay in bed that night and sighed. What was this about kissing Hans? _Wow, am I really_ that _insatiable?_ It was a shame she didn't see much of him anymore. He was always busy. But then again, so was she. Maybe if she could find a way to leave the house without her mother's knowledge, she could go out and see him again.

A few months later, she did. She climbed out of her window one night when everyone was sleeping, even her hyper five-year-old sister Inge, and crossed the street to the Hubermanns' house. Then she went around the back, to Hans's bedroom window. He was awake, which was surprising, considering how late it was. She tapped on his window, and he turned around to see her. Smiling, he let her in. "Rosa! What are you doing here?'

She grinned, climbing over the windowsill. "Just catching up with an old friend."

"Does your mother know you're out here?"

She put a finger to her lips. "Sh."

They sat together and talked for a while, just like the old days. Then Hans brought it up. "So, about the kiss..."

She rolled her eyes. "Ugh.  Can we please not speak of it?"

"Well, I just wanted to ask something."

"Oh, _all_ right."

"Did... did you love the delivery boy?"

Rosa looked at him quizzically. "You're joking, right? Of course I didn't love him. I just... wanted to see what it was like."

"And what _is_ kissing like?"

She laughed a bit. "Do you want me to show you?"

So she leaned towards him, and they kissed. While it wasn't as exciting as romance novels will have you believe it is, it sure as hell _felt_ more special than kissing that damn delivery boy. When they parted, Hans just grinned and chuckled a bit. He'd grown some from that shy little boy who'd stare at her from his desk at school. He was a lot taller, and his face had smoothed out from its childhood roundness. But he still had that dopey little smile of his. She ruffled his hair. "I love you,  _Saukerl._ " 

"I love you, too, Rosa."


	6. Chapter 6

Years passed. Hans and Rosa continued to see each other in secret. At sixteen, Hans finally told his father he didn't want to take over the shop. By this point, Albert and Alfred were helping out full-time as well, so he figured that one of them could do it instead. His father went silent for a few seconds, then said, "Well, Hans, is there any other work you have in mind?"

He explained about seeing Herr Zimmermann, and helping him. Then he produced the slip of paper. "Papa, I think this is the type of work I want to do. I want to be around people."

Peter smiled. "I'm glad you found something you want to do, son."

So that's how Hans started painting houses. Rather than being cooped up in a shop all day, he spent his days slapping paint onto walls, passing paint cans, climbing ladders. It was a necessary change of scenery. One day, on his lunch break, he was sitting on the sidewalk, his chin in his hand. He thought of Rosa, with a little smile on his face. "Hey. Hans."

He looked up to see Herr Zimmermann smoking a cigarette. "Yes?"

"Oh, you weren't responding, so I just wanted to know what you were thinking about." He sat down next to him and smiled. "Is it a girl?"

He blushed. "Um...."

"Oh, don't lie. I know that look when I see it." He laughed. "Is she pretty?"

"Very."

"Does she like you back?"

"Yes."

"Oh! So you have a girlfriend! How lovely!"

"You won't tell anyone, will you?"

Herr Zimmermann laughed. "While I love talking about girls, I don't gossip. Don't worry."

"So, um.... do _you_ have a girlfriend, Herr Zimmermann?" People said that most nights, he had a girl over at his house, which explained the noises.

"Please, call me Holger. And yes, I do. She's pretty, she's smart." He smirked and laughed, and Hans was worried he'd say something dirty. But he took a different track. "You know, I've never told her this, but she looks so cute when she's asleep. Like a little angel."

"I can imagine."

"Yeah, once you've known someone for that long, you'll start to notice little things like that about her. You'll see."

"So... will you marry her?"

"Honestly, I don't know. I mean, we've been together for so long it _does_ feel like we're already married. But... I'm not sure if I even want to get married."

In August 1914, when Hans and Rosa were eighteen, a war broke out. Most of the young men in their community rushed out to join the fight. But not Hans. "This whole thing is nonsense," he said to Rosa one evening. 

"How is it nonsense?"

"So some archduke in Austria got shot, and now _we_ have to get involved. Why is it our problem?"

Unfortunately, his friend, Arthur, joined the fight as well. He was full of zeal and excitement when he got on that train. "Arthur, aren't you afraid?"

"Why, no!" he laughed with an air of alcohol-induced blase. "Watch, this war will be over and done in a few months!"

Hans wasn't so sure about that, though. But towards the end of the month, Germany had a victory against Russia (and Arthur was unharmed, by the grace of God), so his worry was eased just a little bit. Although, he wondered as he saw the sheer amount of casualties, was it really worth it? All those men killed in battle? They were sons, brothers, husbands, friends. He thought of all the people they'd left behind.

Four months passed, and nothing much seemed to be changing on the frontlines. So Arthur had been incorrect in his assessment of the situation. And quite frankly, so had everyone else. Meanwhile, back in Molching, quite a bit had changed. Christmas was disappointing, because it was wartime, but Hans and his family were used to the lack of presents. As for the evening meal, they had their usual, soup with bread.

Herr Zimmermann and his girlfriend did decide to get married, after all. Hans went to the wedding. It was nothing fancy, really. Just a simple celebration, with their friends and family present. But the couple seemed pretty happy. You could tell that they were destined for many joyful years together.

In January, the bread rationing started. People quickly learned how to use ration cards at the store. Hans and Rosa were used to the deficit, but others were not. Still others accepted this, because they were confident that they could stick this out for the sake of the war effort. It seemed that all everyone cared about was who was winning, who was losing, what territory had been gained or lost by which country.

In April, even Herr Zimmermann, whose wife was now pregnant, enlisted in the army. "I want to at least feel like I'm contributing something," he explained.

"But what about the business?"

"You're a smart young man. I'm confident that you can handle it by yourself."

So, after he and his family exchanged tearful goodbyes, he boarded a train headed for the east. Meanwhile, Hans made the rounds by himself for the next several months. He didn't think he was as good as his longtime mentor, but his customers enjoyed his company. He was friendly and agreeable, and he quickly learned the names of his regulars. The Schulz family, with three children, Patti, Renate, and Andi. The Pohls, with their baby, also named Hans. The newlywed Lehmans, who weren't much older than him. Herr Lehman, especially, took a liking to him, and gradually, the two became friends.

One day in October, he and Rosa met up after he'd finished his rounds for the day. "Do you remember that bitch Klara Schilzer?"

"Yes, why?"

"Well, her name isn't Schilzer anymore, because she's married."

"Who did she marry?"

"The skinny boy with the glasses, Klaus Holtzapfel." She laughed. "Well, all I have to say is, _she_ wasn't a good one to talk about me kissing the delivery boy, because I heard that she and Klaus did _more_ than kiss _before_ they were married!"

Hans shook his head and laughed. "Rosa."

"Hey, she gossips about me, I'll gossip about her."

That same month, he got a hurried letter from Herr Zimmermann, stating that Belgrade had fallen to the Germans. "Wonderful news, is it not?" Hans wasn't sure, though. For Germany, yes, it was good news, but what about for Serbia?

In November, his first child was born. "A girl. She's pretty," Frau Zimmermann told Hans, beaming.

"Like her mother."

"Oh, Hans, stop it!" she giggled. Then she looked down and sighed. "I just wish Holger could see her."

Two months later, Herr Zimmermann returned, embittered, angry, and missing a leg. "What...." asked Hans.

"Got it blown off."

That night, as they sat together on the sidewalk, he put forward the idea of Hans taking over the business. Permanently. "But..."

"Hans. Listen. How the hell am I supposed to keep painting houses with _this_?" He gestured to his leg. "Look at me! I'm a goddamn cripple!"

"Holger...."

He was crying now. "I'm serious! There's nothing for me anymore! I can't get a job in this town like this! My life is ruined! How will I support my family?" He buried his head in his hands and sobbed. Hans put an arm around him.

When he was done sobbing, he clenched his teeth and scowled. "I only joined the goddamn army because they told me I'd have a better life afterwards. That was such _bullshit_! I'm just as poor as I was when I left, maybe even more so, except now I _know_ I've got blood on my hands. I left my wife, the only woman I've ever loved, _and_ missed the moment I became a father for _this_!" He started crying again. "I've seen my own countrymen do the most awful things to innocent people, and I just _watched,_ Hans. I _watched._ And I've taken sons away from their mothers. Will the Lord ever forgive me?"

"I'm sure He will, Holger."

A few months later, he and his family moved to Munich. The two men corresponded, for a while. His wife was working as a maid, and he had gotten a job as a gardener in the same house where she worked. Hans noticed a change in the tone of his letters over the next couple months. He went from enthusiastically and freely talking about his infant daughter, who he adored, to answering Hans's questions with terse, stiff responses. Then in July, the letters stopped altogether. After the bullet pierced through his head, I collected his soul, and we floated together, over his sleeping baby daughter, out of that lonely apartment in Munich, over the top of the city. Later that month, Frau Zimmermann informed Hans of Holger's death and enclosed the note he'd written. "He wanted you to read this."

                      *****The contents of Holger Zimmermann's suicide note*****

"I'm sorry to leave you like this. But I can't live with the shame any longer. Every night when I sleep, I am haunted by the men I killed. Sometimes, I wish I had suffered their same fate. Or maybe I wish I'd never gone into battle. Because before I enlisted, I had everything I could possibly want. I had a job I loved, I'd married the love of my life, and I'd just found out I was going to be a father. I was happy. And after? I returned missing a leg and carrying the weight of all those corpses. I have nothing to live for anymore. For the longest time, it was my little girl who was keeping me alive. I loved watching her grow. And then I realized: she's just so sweet and innocent, how I started out, how everyone started out, and that scares me so. What if she grows up and finds out that the man who helped give her life killed people? And I thought, 'Perhaps it's for the best if she doesn't ever find out.' So please, Lena, don't tell her. Let her believe that I was a good man, for as long as you can. Because for a short while, I was. And find someone who makes you happy. As much as I can't stand to think of you with another man, I can't stand to think of you sleeping in an empty bed for the rest of your life, either. Now to everybody who reads this: please don't worry about me. I'll be alright. Wherever I am, I'll be happy. I'm not worried about Hell anymore. Like Hans said, I'm sure the Lord will forgive me."

Hans sat there, clutching the note in shock. _He's really dead?_ He must have sat in that chair for hours, trying to process what had just happened. He read the rest of the letter, which said that he could come to the funeral at the church in town, because she was sure her husband would want to be buried in his hometown. Then, when his father got back from work, he told him what he'd heard. "That's a real shame," sighed Peter. "I knew the war affected him, but... I just didn't think that would happen." Nobody ever thinks I'll come their way, though.

The priest in Molching had some reluctance about saying a funeral mass for Holger because of the manner in which he'd died. But Frau Zimmermann managed to convince him. So the entire town showed up at the church for the funeral. Hans managed to maintain his composure for most of the service. He'd been to quite a few funerals. But when it came time to say his last goodbyes, the reality of the situation hit him. Holger was....  _gone._ Forever. Despite his better judgment, he was sobbing over the casket. 

At the reception, he spoke to Frau Zimmermann for a while. Then, after all the usual polite talk, he blurted out, "I could have prevented this from happening."

She gave him a sad smile. "Hans, nobody could have."

"I mean it. It's my fault we're here right now. When we were talking the night he returned, he asked me if the Lord would ever forgive him. And I said, 'I'm sure He will.' Maybe that was what caused him to...." He couldn't say it, because he was crying again.

She pulled him into a hug. "Hans, it's not your fault."

A bit later, she pulled the engagement ring off of her finger. "Here."

"But your husband gave you that.... don't you want to keep it?"

She sighed. "Hans, now that he's dead, I have to accept that my days with him are over. I know it's too soon, but it is how it is. But that doesn't mean this ring shouldn't have any use. You're young still. You should give it to a girl. But make sure it's that _special_ girl."

He smiled and took the ring. "Thank you."

That night, he put it on his dresser.  _Maybe I'll use it sometime soon._ And as he got ready for bed, he repeated to himself, "It's not my fault. It's not my fault. It's not my fault."

In November 1917, he was conscripted into the army, as Germany was desperate and failing. As much as he hated this war, he had no choice but to go. But as he left, he thought of Holger and what his time in the fight had done to him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight gore warning for this chapter!

There's not much to say about Hans's first six months in the army. He just did as he was told, and to his fellow soldiers, he was polite, but aloof. They simply assumed it was his nature. It wasn't. He just didn't see himself becoming friends with them. They swore out loud, told the filthiest jokes, drank to excess, and boasted about all they would accomplish once they went into battle. It didn't occur to any of them that I would cross paths with them. But Hans? Oh, he knew. He never said it, but I saw it in his eyes when he lay awake each night.

In May 1918, he was shipped out to France. Essomes-sur-Marne, specifically. There were some men who'd been there for quite a while. They looked exhausted and grey. Many of them had bandages. Hans was shocked at how they were continuing to fight.

That first night, one of the new arrivals, Erik Vandenburg, played his accordion for everyone. His eyes were shut in concentration, and he seemed to be at peace with the music. Once the song was over, the others couldn't help but applaud. Then a few started making song requests, and they spent that night singing.

Hans didn't really speak to Erik, though, until a week later, as the man mostly kept to himself. That evening, he was sitting by himself, as per usual. He must have been looking at a photograph or magazine or something because one particularly brash fellow, Reinhardt Matussek, a twenty-five-year-old from Berlin (like most of the men in the platoon) with a thick accent, said, "Look at the tits on _her_."

Hans rolled his eyes. The soldiers were known for using coarse language, but Matussek was the _worst_ about it. Every second or third word from his mouth was  _scheisse_ or _Arschloch_ or pretty much any possible conjugation of the verb  _ficken_ or  _Schwanz_ or what have you. The man made sex jokes explicit enough to make _me_ blush, and you know I've seen more than my share of things. He was obsessed with pornography, too, and it was not uncommon to see him passing a dirty magazine to his buddies. Hans didn't know what kind of man Erik was, though, so he was curious to see how he reacted.

Erik turned around slowly, looked him in the eye, and said, "That's my wife you're talking about."

Reinhardt's eyes went wide, and he grabbed the picture from Erik and passed it to the others. They distributed it among themselves, making rather nasty comments about the woman in the photo. Finally, the picture made its way to Hans, with the words, "Oh, you ought to see this, Hubermann."

The picture, in question, was pretty innocent. It was of a young woman in a light summer dress, standing by a tree. She was quite pretty, actually, with shiny dark hair, wide eyes, and full lips. She looked almost doll-like. _Matussek just has a dirty mind_ , he thought. _I'll bet his eyes went immediately to her chest._ Then he handed it back to Erik. "I'm sorry about that."

Erik looked up and smiled. "It's alright, really."

"But I must say, if that's your wife, you're a very lucky man." He laughed.

Erik laughed a little, too. "I guess I am. She's everything to me."

He introduced himself to Erik, and they spoke for a bit. "Now, I like my filthy jokes as much as the next man, but I won't let _anybody_ talk about my wife that way, let alone _those_ shitheads."

Hans nodded. "I see." Then he looked up at the sky. "You know, I have a lady back home, too. We're not married, though."

"Oh, a girlfriend. Do you _want_ to marry her?"

"Yes, but..." He sighed. "Her family doesn't like me, and my mother _hates_ her."

"Forbidden romance. Like Romeo and Juliet."

"Pardon?"

"Romeo and Juliet. It's a play by some English fellow called Shakespeare. About two teenagers who are in love, but their families are feuding with each other."

"Well, how does it end?"

Erik thought for a bit. "Not well, I'm afraid. Juliet's father forces her to marry someone else, so she fakes her own death to get out of it. And Romeo finds out she's dead, but doesn't know that she faked it, so he drinks poison. Then Juliet sees that he's dead, and stabs herself with his sword."

"Gruesome."

"I know. But I don't imagine that'll happen with you and this girlfriend."

Hans laughed. " I sure hope not."

"Really, though, if you love each other and know you want to spend your lives together, you should get married. Who cares what your families think? What matters is that you're both happy."

Over the next few months, they were friends. Erik taught him to play the accordion, although in the beginning, he was quite terrible. Hans quite liked him. He reminded him of Holger, almost. Together, they would play music, shoot craps, tell jokes. One evening, Erik taught him how to do the waltz, counting out the rhythm under his breath. "Your girlfriend will be _quite_ impressed when you try this with her."

Occasionally, they'd exchange stories from their hometowns. Hans saw how much Erik really loved his wife from the way he talked about her. And he saw that, from a brief glance over his shoulder while he was writing to her, he called her "[his] love" and "darling". Those terms may not seem that special, as those are what most men call their wives, but Hans imagined _Erik_ saying them, and found that they sounded quite charming that way.

One night, Erik pointed out a rabbit in the woods nearby. Then he said, "You know, when I was a boy, my brother Frederick would take me to this one big park, and there would be rabbits just like that one. We'd always try to catch them, but we never could." He looked around, blinked, and gulped, trying to hold back tears. Hans never asked him about it.  

They were pretty much inseparable. I guess you could say they were best friends. And it showed, that fateful day in September when Erik saved his life. The sky was pale, as it had been gray and raining for the last several days. When their sergeant paced up and down the rows of cots asking for someone who had good handwriting, Erik offered up Hans's name.

Everyone except Hans went into battle that day, and none of them came back. Once the fighting had died down and I'd collected my share of souls for the day, Hans peered out at the scene. Dead bodies, scattered all over like empty bottles on the ground. Then he went out to see if Erik was among them. _Don't ask a question if you're not ready to hear the answer,_ he reminded himself. It was terrifying, seeing all the corpses. Eyes flung open, limbs dismembered, lying in a pool of congealed blood. He could hardly stomach seeing the members of his platoon in such a state. The famously cavalier Matussek looked... _fearful._ The "heroic death" he'd been awaiting must have caught him by surprise. Finally, he came upon Erik Vandenburg. And he fell to his knees.

A sergeant from another platoon came upon the two of them. "Who are you?"

"H-Hans Hubermann, sir!"

Then he asked for his platoon and rank, which he gave. "Everyone's dead, sir."

"Everyone?"

He nodded.

"Well, come with me."

"Wait, you won't bury him?"

"Pardon?"

Hans cleared his throat and sat up a bit straighter. "I know this man. He doesn't deserve to be left out here."

"Nobody here does. But that's just how it is out here. Now come on. Nature will deal with him."

"But sir, he has a wife at home. I'm sure she'll already be upset to find out that he's dead. If she's not able to bury him, she won't ever have any closure. Besides, this is a person. Some mother's son. At the very least, he deserves a decent burial."

"I suppose you're right. I can get a few of the boys to come out here with a bag so we can send him home."

The men in this other platoon, after learning about Hans's circumstances, mostly gave him his space. The sergeant managed to obtain Erik's personal items and was able to send most of them, but his accordion was too big to send back. So he gave it to Hans. "I'm sure he would have wanted you to hold onto this for him."

Hans felt like he shouldn't even touch it, though. So it just sat on his cot until the day he was discharged from the army. And every night as he fell asleep, he felt as if it was... _looking_ at him. When he finally went to sleep, he swore he could hear Erik playing it. His favorite piece, "Blue Danube Waltz". Or some nights, there would be no music, just him speaking. What he said varied, whether he was talking about his wife, or telling a joke, or talking about how ridiculous this war was, but it would always end with his signature low chuckle that seemed to trail off, vapor-like, into the night.

When he got off the train in his hometown, accordion in hand, his family was the first to greet him. Rosa was there, of course, but she dared not approach him in front of the disapproving Frau Hubermann. "Where did you get this accordion, Hans?" asked his father.

Hans sighed. "It's a long story."

Later that evening, Hans decided to go see Rosa, because he had something important for her. She was sitting on her porch, and he sat down next to her. She smiled, placed her arm around him, and gave him a kiss. Then she rumpled his hair. "I missed you, _Saukerl_."

"I missed you, too, Rosa."

They sat there for a bit, looking at the stars. It was clear tonight, quite rare for November in Germany. He started to wonder where Erik was among those stars. Probably the brightest one, so he could watch his wife from afar. He could almost imagine Erik's voice in his sleeping wife's ear: "Sweet dreams, my love."

"You know, Hans, it's getting late. I should come back inside."

Back to the present. "Rosa, wait." She turned to look at him. "It's such a beautiful night. It would be a shame to waste it on sleeping."

"Well, if we're not going to sleep, what are we going to do?" She laughed a bit, trying to mask her jitters.

"Come with me. You'll find out."

So he took her hand in his, and they ran, down to the Amper River. It felt like the old days, back when they were children. On the bridge, they stopped and looked over at the river. Its surface reflected the moon and stars, giving it an almost bejeweled appearance. "Do you want me to teach you something I learned while I was away?"

"What is it?"

He extended his hand to her, and, with an exaggerated posh accent, he said, "May I have this dance?"

"There's no music, _Saukerl_."

"I can remedy that."

So she took his hand. At first, it was a bit hard for them to get into the proper position, as she was much shorter than him. But they did, and he started humming  "Blue Danube Waltz" while guiding her through the steps.  She was a bit awkward, but eventually, she got the hang of it. Once the song was over, he fiddled with the ring in his pocket and looked up at the sky once again.  _Wish me luck, Erik._

"Rosa."

"Yes?"

"We've been best friends for years, as you know. And in those years, I've realized that you are the most important person in my life. You're the reason I wake up each morning. You're the only person I can really.... be myself around. And when I imagine myself getting married, you're the only person I can see myself with." Then he dropped down to one knee and pulled the ring out of his pocket.

"Hans, are you...."

"When Frau Zimmermann gave me this ring, at first, I didn't want to accept it. Her husband had given it to her, after all. But she told me, 'Hans, I have to accept that my days with him are over. But that doesn't mean this ring shouldn't have any use. You're young still. You should give it to a girl. But make sure it's that _special_ girl.' And now I know. _You're_ that special girl. So, Rosa, my special girl, will you spend the rest of your life with me?"

"Hans, I'd love to, but... you know my mother won't approve. And neither will yours."

"And? Who cares what they think? As long as we're happy, that's all that matters."

She smiled. "Then yes. I'll spend the rest of my life with you, Hans."

A bit later that week, he scraped together his money, took a train to Stuttgart, and asked around for Erik Vandenburg. It took him a while to find his family, but eventually, he showed up at the door of their apartment. He almost couldn't bear to look the woman who answered in the eye. She resembled the photo Erik carried around, but she seemed even smaller in person. She looked a bit pale. The whites of her eyes were tinged with red. She'd clearly been crying. "Hans Hubermann," he mumbled. "I was in Erik's platoon. I take it you're Frau Vandenburg?"

"Yes. Erik told me about you. Come in."

So he came in. The place was cozy, almost. He sat down in their little living room and explained about the accordion. "It wouldn't be right for you not to have it back."

She sighed. "You can keep it, Herr Hubermann. I have more of them than I need." She gestured dispassionately to a shelf full of them. "And just knowing that this one belonged to Erik...." Her eyes started to fill up with tears, and she wiped them on her sleeve.

"He taught me to play."

She nodded and smiled a bit. "Could you play it for me?"

So he did. And as he did, he saw that she was crying for real. "Oh...."

She shook her head and attempted to compose herself. "I'm sorry. This is..... embarrassing. I...." He could tell her upbringing had involved a copious amount of instruction in society behavior. "Really, keep playing."

Once he was done with the song, he mentioned that Erik saved his life. Then, unsure if it was appropriate to say anything else, he gave her his card, offering to paint the apartment for free. She took it and thanked him quietly. Just then, a little boy wandered in. He looked a lot like Erik, but had his mother's thick, swampy dark eyes. He was wearing a little red sweater and brown trousers. As he curled onto his mother's lap, she clutched him to her, but didn't look at him. "This is Max."

Hans looked down, smiled, and waved. _Cute kid._ "Hello, there, Max."

The boy shrank back and clung to his mother. "He's a shy little boy," she explained.

After sitting in silence for a bit, she asked, "If you don't mind, could you play something else?"

"Of course, of course."

So Hans played a simpler piece, one that his fellow soldiers had frequently asked Erik to play. Then when he played it, they would belt out the words, clap in time with the song, and some of the men would even offer a few whistles. But now, all those men were dead. And as he played the song, in this small apartment, on Erik's accordion, in front of his widow, it sounded wistful and nostalgic, a reminder of a better time that was long past. Frau Vandenburg was crying once again. But she wiped her eyes, looked up, and said, "Thank you."

"Thank you for having me, Frau Vandenburg. And.... my condolences." With that, he left their apartment, feeling incredibly awkward. There was a lot to think about. _Erik has a son?!_

To the sky, he said, "You know, you never told me you had a son." Then he walked back to the train station and waited to go home.


	8. Chapter 8

That evening, he decided he should tell his father about his engagement. So, when his mother was in the kitchen washing dishes, he said to his father, "I want to marry Rosa."

Peter raised his eyebrows. He honestly didn't care about his wife's issues with Rosa, but he was aware that Rosa's mother believed she could do better than a half-educated painter. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. I proposed three days ago." He sighed. "I know she has her... reputation, and I know Mama doesn't like her, but I really don't see myself marrying anyone else, and...."

"Hans."

"Yes, Papa?"

"Do you love her?"

"Yes."

"Then that's all that matters."

So Hans scraped together his money and bought a house. A small place, really. Not unlike the one he grew up in, with a few rooms and an outhouse they shared with other families. He and Rosa were married within the month. She couldn't afford a fancy white dress, so she wore her best dress, which was green. She still looked beautiful, though. Their families watched as he carried her over the threshold. "Oh, put me down, _Saukerl_ ," she laughed once they were through the door. 

They'd both been nervous about their first night together, Hans because he wasn't completely sure what to do and was afraid of hurting her, Rosa because she'd been told it hurt. When they were in bed and he started to unbuckle his belt, the nervousness intensified, for the both of them. But the first little shove didn't hurt as much as she'd feared. And the rest of the night was spent attempting to figure out each other's bodies, with quite a bit of laughter. But with time and experience, they eventually became less awkward. That's what marriage is for, isn't it? Figuring it all out.

In a few months' time, Rosa began to notice some strange things. Her monthly bleeding was a month and a half overdue. She was tired easily. She found herself being short with Hans more than usual. Overall, her entire body just felt...  _different._ Every day, there would be points where she'd feel dizzy, and just like that, it would pass. Her breasts felt heavier and sore. She often found that she'd excuse herself from the dinner table, saying she felt "out of sorts". Then, early one morning, she felt a rising nausea that just wouldn't go away. Finally, she rushed out of bed and threw up in the washroom. She'd tried to deny it all this time, but now she had to face the fact: she was with child. She could see it in the dark circles under her eyes, the way she had to steady herself in front of the mirror. She rinsed out her mouth and went back to bed, where Hans was just starting to stir.

"Rosa? What's the matter? Are you ill?"

"I'm not, don't worry. It's fine." Then she smiled and inched closer to him. "Hansi. I'm pregnant."

He gasped, smiled the biggest smile, and took her into his arms. Her whispered words changed the course of his life. Now they shared something else, something tangible. Something that would bind them together, even if the bond of marriage fell through. 

More than eight months later, Rosa gave birth, in the company of just her husband and a local doctor. Twins, a boy and a girl. They both rested on her chest that afternoon as she lay in bed, exhausted from the morning's ordeal. "Hansi, he has your eyes," she whispered. 

And it was true. That infant, with the slightest dusting of blond hair on his head, had his eyes. Hans found it somewhat surreal, in fact, to see his own gray eyes staring back at him in that little face. That was _his son._ Then he got an idea. "Rosa, I think I know what we should name him."

"And what is it?"

"Hans, Junior."

She laughed. "Of course."

The girl was subsequently called Gertrud, or Trudy, for Rosa's mother. She looked like Rosa, with her dark brown hair, but had some of Hans's features mixed in. He was surprised at the almost immediate love he felt for the twins. He loved every minute he got to spend with them. He could be occupied just watching the infants sleep. He also found that he felt an almost pressing need to protect them. For instance, when one of them stirred in their sleep, his heart skipped a beat, and he'd lean forward in his chair. Rosa laughed at this. "They're not going anywhere, you know."

"I know."

They grew up, went to school. Some weekends, they went to work with their papa. They found it fun, slapping paint on walls and getting messy. Of course, as soon as they got home, Rosa would make them all wash. And every night when they went to bed, Hans would play them a lullaby on his accordion. One night, when the children were around six or seven, he had just finished getting ready for bed when he heard his son's voice. "Papa!"

So he went into their room and asked what the issue was. "I'm too scared to sleep," mumbled the boy.

He took Hans, Jr. into his arms and asked, "What are you scared of?"

"I... I feel like there's something under my bed. Like... like a monster."

So the older Hans checked under there, and reported his findings. "There's nothing under the bed."

"Are you sure, Papa?"

"Of course I'm sure." He smiled. "And even if there was something under there, your papa would chase it away."

"You would?"

"Yes." _I'd chase all of it away if I could,_ he thought. _Whatever's bothering you, I'd chase it all away, my son._

The boy, reassured by his father's words, started to settle a little bit. Then he asked, "Can you play me a song?"

"I already did. When I tucked you in, remember?"

"I know, but can you play another one?"

"Alright."

So he played another song, quietly, so as not to wake his wife or daughter. His son watched, rapt. He loved watching his father play the accordion, even if, by his own admission, he wasn't all that good. To him, the way he handled the keys was just  _magical._ Just then, Rosa's voice cut through the music. "Keep it down,  _Saukerle_!"

Hans rolled his eyes, and they both laughed. "Alright, Hansi, I suppose you ought to go to sleep now."

"Yes, Papa." He started to get back under the covers. "And you're _sure_ there's nothing under my bed?"

"Yes. There's nothing under there. Don't worry." He rubbed his back until he fell asleep. And once the boy was asleep, Hans stayed in his chair for a while, watching the twins sleep, like he did when they were babies. Hans, Jr. lay on his stomach, his head facing his father. And Trudy, in the next bed, was on her side, but she also faced in his direction. By day, she was quite the spitfire, like her mother, but when she was asleep that night, she seemed calmer and more peaceful.

He sighed. He knew his children wouldn't be this small forever, and there would come a time when their problems would be bigger than the possibility of a monster under their bed, and he couldn't chase them away. He knew there would come a time when he wouldn't be able to protect them. But for now, he could sit there, watching over them, and marveling at the life he'd created. "Good night," he whispered.

As he went back to bed, his wife sat up a bit. "Took you long enough."

"Oh, I wasn't gone _that_ long."

"Well, is everything alright?"

"Yes."

"Good." And with that, she rolled over and fell asleep.

Everything _was_ alright. He led a calm, quiet (well, sort of) life with his wife and children. He was at peace. Everyone was at peace. And for more than a decade, it remained like that.

And that, to the best of my understanding, is how it all began.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this first chapter! Hope you all like it!


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